


He Was Real

by Feathers7501



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Based on a song, Halloweenish, M/M, destielhalloweenminibang, first thing i have ever finished, ghost story, motorcycle accident
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 23:01:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8346217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Feathers7501/pseuds/Feathers7501
Summary: It’s just Dean and his motorcycle on the misty road until he picked up a lost soul. Castiel was real – Dean was sure he was real…….





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to [Bluebellsandcocklesshells](http://bluebellsandcocklesshells.tumblr.com) for the awesome art!  
> Also so many thanks to[ Noxsoulmate](http://archiveofourown.org/users/noxsoulmate/pseuds/noxsoulmate) for her support and encouragement to even begin this, and beta reading! Thanks also to [ BlackDog9314](http://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackDog9314) for helping to get rid of some "Aussie-isms"  
> Based on a song by the inimitable Jon English (I know you guys haven't heard of him - Aussie rocker who died earlier this year) [She Was Real](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AoiRmW0ioNI) (but his song was based on the classic phantom traveller ghost story!)

****

He Was Real

****

31st October, 1979. Northern California. 3 am.

Mist.

Dean hadn’t noticed the mist hovering over the surface of the road until it had become almost thick enough to obscure the vegetation on either side of the deserted highway. It was cold. Dean thanked the powers that be for the thick leather jacket he was wearing, as it kept most of the chill and the damp out. He yanked the zipper higher as he rode, crouched over the scant warmth of the tank, trying to present a smaller target to the night air.

Dean flew by several crossroads and side-roads, feeling unsure now. He cursed as he slowed to a stop to check the damn map. He used his boot to kick down the side stand and threw a leg over the bike, spreading the map across the tank.

“Son of a bitch,” he said without venom. “Goddamn paper maps never fold up the way they unfold.” Dean struggled to bring the right quarter to the top in the light of his flashlight. 

It was quiet. That kind of dead, muffled quiet that comes with a heavy mist. All Dean could hear was the ticking of the Yamaha’s cooling engine and his own boots in the gravel.

There was something, though. A slight noise that captured his attention and made him look up from the crumpled map. Dean steadied the flashlight and angled the beam to the side of the road, lighting up the swirling mist.

He felt an involuntary shiver up his spine that had nothing to do with the cold or the fog. 

“Hey – anyone there?”

There was nothing to hear, and yet he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck prickle and rise.

“Goddamnit – is there anyone there?”

Silence, and all he could see was the mist eerily lit by the beam of his flashlight.

“Get it together, Winchester, there’s nothing there. Now find this freaking road and just get on with it.” Nothing like talking to yourself to bolster your courage – not that his courage needed bolstering. It was just dark, after all it was 3 am, in October.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

As the deep voice broke the silence, Dean nearly dropped the flashlight as he spun around, bootheels digging themselves into the damp gravel.

“What the fuck? Hello? Who’s there?”

The beam of the flashlight caught a figure in the mist, a guy – he was dressed in jeans and leather, but the tightness of his shoulders and the way he held himself made him look lost; lost and afraid.

“Hey, hello…” Dean cleared his throat to rid himself of the tremble that shouldn’t have been there.

The other guy hadn’t moved. He was still just standing on the side of the road, surrounded by the swirling fog.

“Hey – you there… are you ok?” Dean’s voice petered out, unsure. He took a closer look, peering through the mist.

The guy who had appeared on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere looked about his own age; it was hard to see more in the beam of the flashlight.

Through the shifting fog, Dean watched as the man took a step closer. 

“Can you help me – I seem to have lost my way.” He had a deep voice that resonated even through the damp mist. Dean watched as the stranger tilted his head slightly to one side, giving him an inquisitive, almost innocent look.

“Buddy, what are you doing out here? Is anyone with you? How’d you get here?”

The dark haired man didn’t answer, just stepped towards Dean, his features becoming clearer as he neared. 

Blue. The bluest eyes Dean had ever seen. Dean’s heart did a slow somersault in his chest. Broad shoulders filled the leather of his jacket. Jeans hugged thighs that looked strong and muscular. He took a step toward the dark haired guy who had just emerged from out of the mist, like an angel, or a ghost.

“Hey,” Dean said in a softer voice, feeling that this guy would startle like a wounded animal if he moved too quickly. He reached out a hand, slowly. “You need help?”

“I do, I need to get home. Can you help me?”

“Sure. You gave me a hell of fright just appearing like that – what in blazes are you doing out here?”

Dean’s companion looked down and shuffled his feet slightly.

“I don’t know…” he looked up again – blue eyes locking with Dean’s. “Can you help me? I really just need to get home.”

“I can do that, buddy – as long as you don’t mind riding behind me.” He gestured at his motorcycle. “Where do you wanna go?”

Dean couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. Who the fuck offers a complete stranger a ride on a deserted road in the middle of the night? He shook his head and wiped a hand across his face. Fuck it. He’s hot, he’s lost and the least I can do is get him home safe.

“I live by the sea, not far, I can show you?”

“Sure, buddy.” 

Dean couldn’t help himself, he would offer help to anyone stranded, but the man’s messy dark hair and trusting smile certainly sweetened the pot.

“Hey – what’s your name? I’m Dean, Dean Winchester….”

“Castiel, Cas.”

“Well, come on over Cas. Jump on.”

Dean shoved his helmet back over his head, after offering the spare to Cas. Dean kept it for Sam, but it had been a couple of years since Sam had had occasion to be on the back of the Yamaha. He didn’t need Dean to give him lifts anymore. The rider started the bike and righted it, steadying the machine between his thighs.

“Jump on, Cas, and don’t be afraid to hang on tight!” Dean called as he braced himself and the bike for the other man’s weight.

The stranger from the mist hesitated for only a second before putting a hand to Dean’s shoulder and settling himself close behind him, wrapping his arms around Dean’s middle.

They were almost the same height. Their two bodies fitting together like pieces of a jigsaw, a perfect fit… Castiel’s hips framing Dean’s thighs, Dean’s strong back supporting Cas. He could feel the warmth from Cas' chest along his own back even through his leathers.

The acceleration forced Dean back, but Cas only leaned into him and shoved his hands into the waistband of Dean’s jeans.

“Hey!” Dean turned his head slightly and shouted as they raced through the night.

“What?” 

It was a dead-straight stretch of road. And thanks to the bit of the damn map that didn’t fold into itself, he was able to finally picture the route in his head.

Dean slowed the Yamaha so that he could hear what Cas was saying. ”Where exactly are we going?”

“42 Longden Lane, Solana Beach” Cas shouted – “I’ll tell you when we get close…”

Cas’ arms tightened around Dean’s waist, and the other man couldn't help but think how comfortable – how right it felt.

As Dean concentrated on guiding the Yamaha through the mist, leaning into the curves as the road meandered through the foggy, damp landscape, he couldn’t help but notice that his passenger was so well balanced behind him that the bike seemed to be carrying no weight at all. It was as if they were one person, moving in harmony through the bends. Castiel’s palms were warm against the skin of his hips, and Dean couldn’t think of anywhere else he would rather be at this moment.

“Hey!” he called as he turned slightly, the wind rushing by the open face of his helmet. “You busy this weekend?”

He couldn’t see his passenger, but he felt his arms tighten around his middle.

“I’m not doing anything… what were you thinking?”

Dean grinned to himself “Do you wanna catch a movie or something?”

“Yes, I’d like that!"

Dean felt his heart speed up, and a burst of warmth spread through his chest. His cheeks flamed. It was a great feeling. The man behind him leaned closer and rested his chin on Dean’s shoulder awkwardly, his warm breath fluttering against his ear. 

The road stretched out before them, the powerful Yamaha eating up the miles. It was almost like riding across a grey lake with the ground mist rolling and the horizon softened with the fog and the yellow beam of the single headlight.

It felt like a dream, a fantasy. But it was real.

Dean knew it was real, he was real, and the warm presence behind him was certainly real. He could feel the comfortable weight draped across his back and shoulders, and broad hands caressed his waist each time they tightened their hold or shifted across warm skin and firm muscles.

Dean turned his head to shout through the open-faced helmet. “What kinda movies do you like?” The cold air whipped his words away as he uttered them, but Cas seemed to hear him okay.

“None in particular, Dean. I like most movies, although...” Cas’ low voice trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished.

“Although what? You can tell me, I like ‘em all!”

“I do like films with happy endings...” Castiel held tighter and wrapped himself further around Dean’s solid warmth. “There aren’t enough happy endings...”

Dean laughed into the chill, the puffs of his breath disappearing into the grey night air.

“We can do that Cas, we can do that.”

As they thundered through the night, the mist became heavier before finally coalescing into actual drizzle, then rain. Castiel gripped Dean more firmly and ducked further behind his broad shoulders. Dean glanced around quickly, taking his eyes off the road for only a second to reassure himself that Cas was ok. He could see raindrops glistening in the other man’s eyelashes as his passenger smiled back at him.

Dean felt like he was flying. The world at his feet – he was a Prince, a King. Tearing through the world like they were the only two in it, with this man, this stranger who certainly didn’t feel like one behind him Dean felt real for the first time he could remember. 

He might have been going too fast.

He may have been showing off.

The open-faced helmet Dean wore did nothing for his vision, but he squinted as he clicked down a gear, glimpsing signage indicating a roundabout ahead.

“Hang on, sweetheart!” Dean managed to yell as the bike rounded the sweeping curve of the roundabout. 

He tipped the bike skilfully into the corner, mindful of the slick road; he braked gently into the bend and felt confident as he accelerated out again.

“Woohoo! You see that, Cas? That was damn great riding! You’re always gonna be safe with me!”

Dean’s passenger seemed to have loosened his grip. He began to panic. Dean could feel his shirt flapping in the wind where Cas’ warm hands had been just moments ago.

Dean’s heart sped up, bile rising in his throat as he put one questing hand behind him and turned.

He stepped on the footbrake as he squeezed his hand, bringing the Yamaha to a sliding halt in the gravel at the side of the road. Dean could feel his eyes widen and see his breaths swirling into the still air. 

Cas wasn’t there. There was no one there.

The panic-stricken man pulled off his helmet and let it fall to the ground. He pushed his hands into his hair as he turned frantically on the spot, staring into the mist.

“Cas! Castiel!” he shouted, his voice breaking. “Where are you? CAS!” the shouts were muffled by the cold, damp air and Dean strained with every inch of his being to hear an answer. Cas must have fallen off. That was the only conclusion Dean could draw, and before the thought was even fully formed he had his flashlight out of his pocket and was heading back the way the bike had come, scouring the undergrowth with the scant beam of light.

_Son of a bitch, where is he, he must be here. Trust you Winchester, too fast, showing off, now you’ve gone and killed the guy. What the fuck were you thinking?_ The thoughts tumbled through Dean’s head, each worse than the last. 

Dean was beside himself, panicking. Cold sweat prickled his skin as he stumbled through the undergrowth, searching; looking; calling. The distraught rider was wet to the knees, but he beat through the long grass on either side of the road, tripping over tussocks, and was brought to his knees more than once by unknown things hidden by the mist.

His flashlight caught the shape of a body in the grass, but it was only a branch, fallen from a long-dead tree. Dean cursed as he felt his hope sky rocket, before he was just as quickly pulled back into panic and despair. 

Dean made it all the way back to his bike, searched each side of the road, calling until his voice was hoarse.

He sank to the gravel, shivering in his wet jeans, still searching the sides of the road with frenzied eyes.

“Cas, where are you buddy?” he whispered into the mist. He felt hollow inside. Empty.

He was alone.

The distraught man sat shaking in the gravel, his arms locked around his damp knees.

Dean took a trembling breath and pushed himself to his feet. Trudging back the way he had come, he continued to scan the sides of the road with eyes that saw everything and nothing.

There was a pay-phone lighting up a patch of mist on the far side of the roundabout.

Dean headed for the phone like a man going to his own execution. He lifted the receiver and waited for someone, anyone to answer.

It was sunrise by the time the Police arrived. Most of them were younger cops, bright-eyed and efficient. 

Dean watched with growing hope as the cops quartered the area, broadening their search to include the areas either side of that damn roundabout. Maybe they would find what he had missed. Cas had to be out here somewhere, he couldn’t have just disappeared. But Dean's hopes died again as they found nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zero.

Dean had told his story to three different officers by then. Cas was there – and then he wasn’t. He’d picked Cas up a handful of miles back. The guy had just wanted to get home. Dean became angry when one of the officers suggested that maybe he had imagined his passenger. He'd risen and stalked toward the young officer, bristling with rage. Cas was real, he had to be. Of course he was.

“Hey, cool it, son.” A more senior officer had arrived. “And you others keep your opinions to yourselves.” 

It must have been the look of utter despair on Dean’s face that convinced the lieutenant he wasn’t joking, that he hadn’t imagined his passenger. 

Dean felt a warm hand rest reassuringly on his shoulder, but didn’t look up.

He couldn’t believe this was happening. _Just like me, meet a guy, rescue him and then lose him. Oh God, I’m so tired, I’m not thinking right._

Dean shifted around in the dirt, uncomfortable, but there were only two choices for seats, his bike or a cop car, and he didn’t want a bar of either of them.

_He was gonna go to movies with me, we could’a seen Alien or Mad Max, shared a bucket of popcorn, maybe this is a dream and they’ll find him. The cops will find him, I’ll apologise…_ Dean’s thoughts drifted into confused snippets of memory. How Cas had looked standing in the mist, how warm and right Cas’ hands had felt against the skin of his hips, how solid and reassuring Cas had felt against his back. Dean tortured himself with thoughts of what might have been, and cursed himself for screwing it up.

The cops finally called off the search around nine. The sun was warm in the sky and the mist had all burnt away. 

Dean heard one of the cops talking about going around to Cas’ place, to talk to the family. Dean had given them the address that Cas had shouted in his ear as they had flown along the highway together. It seemed like days ago, years ago now.

The distraught and exhausted man leapt to his feet, dusting his hands off on the thighs of his jeans.

“I want to go with you.”

“Sir, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea...” the officer started.

“I have to. I need to,” Dean lifted his head and looked the young cop in the eye. “I’ll have to go in your car though, I can’t face the bike...” he broke off with a sob and turned away.

The Lieutenant waved a hand, silencing the officer’s next words.

“Son, I’m not quite sure what happened here tonight, but there’s no need for you to come with us.”

The lieutenant took off his hat and scrubbed a hand through the sparse hair beneath it.

“Boy,” he said, looking straight at Dean for the first time.

“Have you heard any weird stories about this area? Is that why you’re here?”

Dean felt confused and irritated by the change of subject. He paced back and forth in short, jerky steps. “No, what stories? Really, is this important – shouldn’t we go see Cas’ family?”

The lieutenant took a breath and resettled his hat.

“There was a kid who died out here, a bunch of years back. Just wondering if you’d come here chasing the story, is all.”

Dean was beside himself with the need to do something, to get moving.

“No,” he said abruptly. “Never heard anything about it, now can we go?”

The lieutenant looked into the younger man’s green eyes, locked on his own with such sincerity. He took a breath and sighed.

“Sure, boy. You can ride with us, the bike can ride in the back of Garth’s truck. We’ll leave now if you’re up to it, son.”

The Police car sped up the same stretch of road that Cas and Dean had flown over earlier that day, then through the roundabout and on toward the coast. It didn’t feel real anymore – but Dean knew that it had been. The feel of Cas warm and close behind him, the tickle of breath on his ear.

  


ooooOOOOoooo

Cas’ father answered the door. It had to be his Dad, he had Cas’ messy dark hair and blue eyes in a face that was older, sadder.

Dean started to explain what had happened, not giving the lieutenant a chance to even start speaking. 

“Castiel was there, sir. I had him. I never meant for him to fall, I mean, he must have, right – he was right there behind me... I was just giving him a lift home. He was lost, and alone....” 

Dean trailed off as Cas’ Dad’s jaw dropped, and his stare flattened as he drew his brows together.

“You son of a bitch! Get out! Get out now! Making things up and lying to me, trying to hurt me… With your damn Halloween jokes and your pranks....”

The older man sobbed in anger and couldn’t seem to get any more words out.

The cops were able to calm him, leading the Castiel's father back into his house and fetching him a glass of water from the kitchen.

Dean followed behind, horrified at the older man’s reaction. He’d been expecting sorrow or grief, and probably anger, but not disbelief. The younger man shook his head and clenched his hands into fists in an effort to stop his trembling.

Cas’ father sat on the edge of one of his own armchairs sipping the water the young officer had brought him. He looked up and locked eyes with Dean, the moment drawing out so long that Dean felt uncomfortable and had to look away. With that, Cas’ dad sighed, settled into his chair properly and placed the water glass carefully on a side table. He looked up – including everyone in the room in his glance this time.

“I don’t know who you are, but it’s plain now this isn’t the joke I thought it to be. My apologies. It hurts though, it hurts to remember and it is painful to talk about. But I’ll tell you my story, Castiel’s story.”

The room was utterly silent except for the sound of Cas’ father’s soft voice. He spoke at length. The story of how he had lost his only son. A story of a misty night, a young man in love with life.

The man in the armchair spoke of Cas, a loving young man on the brink of life. The police had told him that Cas was on his way home on his own motorcycle to tell them the news of his acceptance into medical school. Friends had said that Cas refused to use the telephone, he had wanted his father to hear it from his own lips, to see the proud look on his father’s face. So he had braved the rainy and foggy weather to get home to his dad.

The cops thought he may have been speeding.

There was an accident twelve years ago to the day, on that very roundabout. A single motorcycle taking the curve too quickly. Cas’ father spoke of the shock. Blue flashing lights through the glass of his front door, listening, but not hearing as they told him how very sorry they were, but his son, his Castiel had died at the scene. They had handed him a letter, the only thing the young man had had on him. His acceptance letter.

 

Dean could not believe what he was hearing. He was real, Castiel had been real. Dean’d touched him, felt his warmth, loved his smile. He'd known that Cas liked movies with happy endings for fuck’s sake. He had to have been real.  
Dean felt his head spinning with disbelief, and backed away from the couch he'd been leaning on only to come closer to the mantle above the fire. There, he saw a picture of Cas! Dean grabbed it, recognising the smile, the hair, everything about him immediately. He examined it more closely – it was dated 1965.

“No!” Dean placed the frame back on the mantle. “NO! This can’t be happening!”

The lieutenant reached out to calm the distraught man, to ground him. “Now, Son…”

“No, no, no. He was real! He was on the back of my bike, he was warm and alive. We talked. There were raindrops in his eye lashes for fuck’s sake. I’m not crazy, he was real!”

Dean stumbled from the room and out of the house with one single thought.

The cops had trucked his Yamaha to the house with them. It stood in the road with one helmet dangling from the handlebar by its strap.

One helmet, where there had always been two. His and Sammy’s. 

Dean froze on the sidewalk, staring at the motorcycle. Two helmets. 

Dean’s legs were in motion before his brain caught up. He strode over to the bike and swung a leg over, grabbing the helmet and jamming it onto his head as he moved. He had the sidestand up and the bike started in record time. There was a screech as he let the clutch out and fishtailed away from the curb.

Cas still had the other helmet.

“I’m goin’ back to that roundabout. He’s waiting there for me, I know he is. Cas, buddy… I’m coming.”

“I ain’t crazy.”

_I ain't crazy_

ooooOOOOOoooo


End file.
